Let the Memory Live Again
by holadios
Summary: Set several years after "Moving On." Rachel's tenth birthday wish is to be reunited with her first friend. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** After that finale, I wouldn't go near it with a ten-foot pole.

**A/N:** Spoilers for the finale...but if you haven't seen that, why are you reading fanfiction? Set several years after "Moving On"

Thanks to Pandorama for betaing.

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><p>Maybe it's the fact they've know been on this road trip for four days, or the fact she hasn't asked this question since Maryland and by now they're almost out of Delaware. Admittedly, Delaware takes about twenty minutes to cross, but they're approaching the turn-off for their final state line and she feels compelled to ask again.<p>

"Are you _sure_ you want to do this?"

She knows she's asked this question several times already on the drive up from Florida on Interstate 95, but she can't help herself. She still hasn't come to terms with the fact that she's allowing her daughter to do the one thing she vowed never to do again.

They are going to see Gregory House.

Ten-year-old Rachel already has her adopted mother's glare down cold; she is demonstrating it right now as she answers. "_Yes._" Sensing trouble, she reminds her, "You said that I could go."

"I know," Cuddy answers, sighing. "But that still doesn't mean I think it's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated." She knows it's a cop-out answer, but she has never told Rachel about the last meeting she'd had with House, when he drove his car through her dining room. Literally through it. She can only be thankful Rachel hadn't been in the room at the time. She hasn't seen House since he returned her hair brush (which she has long since thrown away). She found out later from the police that he had been intercepted at the airport upon his return from San Jose. Why he had chosen the Costa Rican capital as his getaway location, she could only guess, but he hadn't made much effort to conceal his whereabouts. He hadn't even used a fake passport.

They've been living in Miami so long she's surprised Rachel even remembers Princeton. She can still remember Rachel explaining one of her earliest members as writing a note in a hospital room and wanting to know who the man was for whom she wrote the note. Cuddy has kept House's worst moments from her daughter, preferring that if her daughter has to remember him at all, she should at least get to remember the good parts. Cuddy wishes she could do the same.

"You always say that," Rachel answers unhappily. She shifts in her seat so she's facing away from Cuddy. "You never tell me anything."

They have reached the Pennsylvania border. Although they don't have to go all the way to New Jersey to find him, the fact this is the closest to her former home she's been in years is not lost on her.

"What do you remember about him?" Cuddy asks, surprising herself with the question. But she is genuinely curious. This is Rachel's birthday wish: Cuddy had promised that as Rachel's special gift for turning double digits, she could have anything she wanted within financial reason. Unfortunately, she hadn't banked on needing to set an emotional limit. But she has to wonder why Rachel would choose to see someone Cuddy thought she barely knew, let alone could remember.

"Feed the monkey," Rachel replies. "Didn't he teach me how to play?"

"Yes," Cuddy says, "but do you remember that? Or did someone tell you he taught you?"

"I remember," she says defensively.

"Okay," Cuddy concedes, though she remains doubtful. "Anything else?"

"He hurt his leg."

Cuddy nods; she knows Rachel is remembering that fateful night when House decided to butcher his leg in the bathtub. She wishes she didn't remember. Looking back, she should have realized that was the beginning of the end.

"But why do you want to see him?" Cuddy presses.

"To see if his leg is better," she answers, as though this is the most obvious thing in the world.

Cuddy knows it won't be. "That's all?"

"No, that would be silly!" Rachel proclaims.

"Why then?

A sheepish smile graces her daughter's lips. "He was my first friend."

For all the memories she has tried to bury and erase, she has underestimated the impact that House had, however unintentionally, on Rachel. She feels a flash of guilt, as though she has denied Rachel some essential part of herself, of her childhood. She thinks back to the wide-eyed toddler who ate her oatmeal with her spoon held backwards, the toddler with whom House had played, even without being asked. She has spent so much time suppressing the memories, trying to move on with her life, professional and personal alike. She's had four suitors but no rings. And no more children. It's just her and Rachel, and that has to be enough.

"Mom?"

Her attention snaps back to her daughter. "Yes, sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was answering your question. I said he was my first friend. And then you didn't answer because you started thinking about how he was your friend, too. Right?"

"Uh – right," she answers distractedly. "Here." She hands Rachel the folder of documents that have been printed for this trip. "Find the MapQuest directions in there and pull them out for me."

Rachel takes the folder from her and begins ruffling between the pages of hotel confirmations and attractions in the various states on 95. She finally extracts the page of directions and hands it to Cuddy.

"Thanks," she replies without looking at the document. She doesn't want to be reminded of where she is going.

Finding him hadn't been as hard as she'd thought. She hadn't wanted to ask Wilson or any of the fellows still at PPTH (admittedly, only Taub and Foreman, who was now Head of Diagnostics) because she hadn't talked to the latter two in seven years and didn't want the former to get any ideas. An internet search had led her to a newspaper article that told her all she needed to know.

He had been arrested about five years ago for attempted murder – and not her own. He had been arrested for trying to kill Wilson of all people, though she supposes she shouldn't be surprised. From what she's read, she gathers that the whole incident could have passed for an accident, but anyone who knew anything about House knew it wasn't. He had crashed his car again, but this time Wilson had been a passenger. He had pled down (probably because he was forced) to reckless endangerment and granted some leniency for "diminished capacity." She thinks that is just a technical term for "Vicodin-overdose-impaired-higher-brain-function" but all the same, she is glad her daughter will not be visiting him in prison.

Admittedly, the state institution isn't much better.

The institution is in Philadelphia, and she knows that Wilson is working at the University of Pennsylvania hospital. He is bound to be House's only visitor. Actually, she's counting on it.

She pulls the car into the parking lot and glances over at Rachel. She is looking out the window uncertainly, and for the first time, Cuddy senses that she is nervous. She leans over and takes her daughter's hand.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asks.

Rachel nods without looking back at her. Cuddy squeezes her hand and is about to suggest again that they forget this whole endeavor when there is a soft rap on her window. She turns around and immediately rolls it down to speak to her old friend.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you here," Wilson says seriously.

She is lost for words, and while she tries not to stare, her eyes are drawn to his right arm. Although it is covered by his white lab coat, she knows it to be badly burned and scarred by skin grafts. She can see the mangled flesh on his wrist and hand and knows that he has lost sensation. House's antics have cost Wilson his career. He is now a professor of oncology, and while he does consulting work, he no longer actively practices medicine.

"I couldn't put Rachel on the plane by herself," she answers. She had told Wilson that Rachel was coming; she had no other way of finding out if House was allowed any visitors. "Get in, I'll park the car."

With his left hand, Wilson pulls open the door and slips into the backseat. Through the rearview window, Cuddy sees him extend his left hand out to her daughter. "Hi, Rachel. You probably don't remember me, but I knew you when you were a baby. I'm James."

"Nice to meet you," Rachel answers politely. "Did you work with my mom?"

"I did," he replies. "Your mom, House, and I all worked at the same hospital. He was my best friend."

The use of past tense is not lost on her. "He isn't anymore?"

Cuddy and Wilson exchange a glance before he answers quietly, "No."

She parks the car in short-term parking. Rachel looks uncertain again as Cuddy kills the ignition. When Cuddy looks at her, she can read the visible nerves on her face. "Will you come with me?"

"Rachel…" she says, faltering at her expression. "We talked about this."

"But I'm scared."

"What are you afraid of?" Cuddy asks gently. She's afraid too, but she doubts they are afraid for the same reason.

"I've never been to a hospital myself before."

When Cuddy hesitates, Wilson jumps in. "Well, you know, Rachel, that's why your mom asked me to meet you here. She wants me to go in with you. Is that okay?"

Rachel looks between her mother and Wilson. Finally, she nods her head. "Are you sure you don't want to come, Mom? I'm sure he remembers you, too."

"You know, I'm sure he does, but I am going to let you go with James. He will take really great care of you, and I'll be here waiting for you when you get back."

"Okay." Rachel unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car. Behind her, Wilson does the same. Rachel walks around the car to meet him and though she takes his right hand, Wilson doesn't object. They walk together, hand in hand, for a few steps and then Wilson turns back and approaches the car.

"Lisa."

She looks up.

"Are you sure?"

She holds his gaze a few moments, allowing the memories to wash over her. Then the moment ends and she shakes her head.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

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><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for reading. Please leave a review if you feel so inclined. I'm not completely adverse to writing a second chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't want them, but they're not mine anyway.

**A/N:** I want to thank everyone for their amazing reviews to the first chapter of the story. Your support and encouragement really influenced my decision to continue. I have decided to turn this story into a three-shot. The third (and final) chapter will by posted _by the earliest_ next week (i.e. the week of July 5th).

**A/N:** Thank you to Pandorama for her expert beta skills and making this not suck.

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><p>Cuddy thinks she must have dozed off, because the next thing she knows, she is being jerked awake by a rap at her window. Opening her eyes, she sees Wilson standing there, Rachel at his side. She is unpleasantly, and not entirely, surprised to see that there are tear streaks on Rachel's face and her eyes are still glimmering. Rachel sniffles again and wipes her running nose with her sleeve.<p>

Cuddy immediately unlocks the door for them, and Rachel and Wilson both climb into the backseat. She glances at the clock as the car's engine turns on. The visit lasted just over half an hour. Counting transportation time to walk to the room, Cuddy suspects they actually saw House for ten minutes at most.

A glance in the rearview window shows her that Rachel has drawn her legs into her chest and is turned away from Wilson, looking out the window at the passing scenery as Cuddy drives away from the institution. Cuddy knows better than to ask what happened, since Rachel is clearly in one of her "I don't want to talk about it" modes, but all the same, Cuddy finds herself angry with House that he could have hurt her daughter this way. She bites her tongue, longing to interrogate Wilson about what House had done to make her daughter so unhappy, but knowing that this is a conversation that would best be left for when Rachel is out of earshot.

"Would you like to come to my place?" Wilson offers suddenly. "Maybe have a cup of coffee?" He adds, "For old time's sake" but Cuddy is able to translate that into "So I can tell you what happened."

"Rachel?" Cuddy asks. Her daughter says nothing. "Sure," Cuddy answers. "That sounds good."

"I'm tired," Rachel whines. Cuddy knows that really means "I want to go back to the hotel and be left alone."

"You can take a nap in my room," Wilson says. "It has a door," he adds pointedly in an undertone. Louder, he says to Cuddy, "Take your next left."

Cuddy follows his directions, and soon finds herself outside a nice-looking apartment complex. She parks the car and gets out immediately, stretching her cramped legs. She waits for Rachel to get out, but after a minute, she opens the door for her daughter and coaxes her out of the car. When Cuddy tries to hug her, Rachel pushes her away moodily.

Wilson, who has the tact to pretend not to notice Rachel pushing away her mother, leads them inside his small, but comfortable-looking apartment. Rachel immediately makes a beeline for the couch and plops herself down, looking thoroughly miserable. Wilson drops the keys on the counter and goes into the kitchen to start the coffee pot. Cuddy walks over to Rachel and sits down on the couch, close enough to touch her, but still far away enough to give her space if she still wants to be left alone.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cuddy asks gently.

Rachel shakes her head and draws her knees into her chest again.

"I'm sorry, honey," Cuddy sighs.

"Hey, Rachel," Wilson says, coming over to them. "Would you like me to show you my room? I have some photographs you might like."

Cuddy internally groans, knowing the photographs are no doubt from some charity event or conference she had been at years ago. The prospect of seeing photographs seems to cheer Rachel up slightly, and she allows Wilson to lead her away from the couch. While Cuddy waits for him to come back, she entertains herself by looking around Wilson's living room. It feels both familiar and jarringly different. The books and journals lining his shelves are the same, but the view outside the window is no Princeton.

Ten minutes later, Wilson reemerges from the room and closes the door carefully behind him. Cuddy looks at him questioningly, and he says, "She's looking at old conference photos. She thinks you looked much prettier back then," he adds, a small smirk playing on his face. Wilson goes back to the kitchen to tend to the coffee. Cuddy follows him.

"So…what happened?" she asks, unable to contain herself any longer.

Wilson sighs as he pours the water through the coffee strainers. "Nothing, really," he responds.

Cuddy frowns. "Then what's the problem?"

"No – you misunderstood me," Wilson says as he hands her a mug of steaming coffee. "It's not that he did something bad. He did nothing _at all_."

Somehow the thought of Gregory House doing nothing is more disturbing than if he had made sexual advances toward her daughter. It feels wrong, unnatural. "Is that, um, usual for him?"

"Yes," Wilson answers. Cuddy feels a twinge of unpleasantness. "He was just lifeless."

Cuddy bites her lip. "Is that why Rachel is upset? Was she scared?"

"I don't think so," Wilson replies slowly. "She seemed a little nervous going inside, but she was okay. When we got to the room, and she first saw him, I could tell it wasn't at all what she had expected. I don't know what she remembers about him, but he looks…different now."

"Different how?" Cuddy has to know.

"Well, thinner, for one thing," Wilson says. "And, um, he's in a wheelchair."

"A wheelchair?" she repeats.

"Yeah." Wilsons nods. "The car acci – crash – it damaged his other foot. It makes it hard for him to walk now. He's been confined to the chair for about two years."

Unwillingly, Cuddy imagines House's frustration over not being able to use either of his legs. She finds herself feeling sympathetic for him, and quickly tries to quash those feelings.

"So, Rachel walked into the room, and House…what? Did nothing?"

"He didn't even ask who she was," Wilson says quietly. "Didn't say hello to me either. He just kind of stared into space."

Cuddy shudders. "And Rachel?"

"She was very brave," he recounts. "She wasn't immediately deterred by his lack of recognition. She went up to him, stood right in front of where he was looking so he couldn't miss her, and said who she was, you know, that she was your daughter, and asked if House remembered her."

"Do you think he does?" Cuddy wonders.

"Well, he didn't say either way…" He sighs. "I doubt that he forgot her, but I don't know. I'm not sure how much damage the Vicodin did to his brain."

"It is damaged, then?" she clarifies.

"It's hard to tell. The doctors think so, but…most of the time House seems pretty normal. This is the first time I've seen him like this," Wilson adds bitterly.

Cuddy considers this as she drinks more of the coffee. "I knew this was a bad idea." She sighs and sets the mug down on the counter. "When she first told me this was what she wanted to do for her birthday, I couldn't believe she even remembered him. Let alone would want to see him again."

Wilson looks hesitant as he says, "If you don't mind me asking…why did you let her do it?"

She shrugs and smiles weakly. "I don't know. Because I became sick of all the Florida sunshine and needed something depressing to brighten my day?" He doesn't laugh and she tries again. "Because part of me, a really small part that I wish didn't exist, hoped that he might be better?"

Wilson nods solemnly. "I don't know if he's ever going to be better."

Cuddy chooses not to answer this, knowing in her heart that Wilson is right, but wishing that she didn't feel like giving almost anything to make it untrue. Instead she asks quietly, "Did he do it on purpose?"

Wilson sighs heavily. "Maybe."

"Why?" Cuddy doesn't manage to keep the bite of anger out of her voice. "He has no right to do that to her."

Wilson doesn't respond immediately, but when he does, his tone is hesitant again. "I – I know that you said you didn't want to see him. But I think maybe…maybe it would help if you did."

"Help who?"

"Well…" Wilson shifts uncomfortably. "House, maybe. And, um, Rachel, if she wants to go back."

"Mom?"

Both adults turn toward Rachel's voice. She is standing outside Wilson's room, her arms crossed protectively across her chest. Cuddy is relieved to see that her daughter's eyes are dry.

"Hi," Cuddy says, smiling at Rachel. "Come here."

Rachel walks over and hugs Cuddy tightly, burying her head in Cuddy's stomach. Wilson catches Cuddy's eye and she knows what she needs to do. She cannot believe she is saying this, but she reminds herself that she is doing it for Rachel, that they are here because of Rachel, and she is not going to let her own feelings about House stand in the way of her daughter making peace with her childhood friend.

Before Cuddy can speak, Rachel asks, "Can we go back?"

"To Miami?"

Rachel shakes her head. "Back to the – place. To House."

"Why?"

"I want him to remember me," Rachel says quietly.

Cuddy looks at Wilson again, and he nods knowingly.

"Yes," she replies. "And this time, I'm coming with you."

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><p><strong>AN:** Please leave me a review if you're feeling so inclined, and check my author page for updates on my writing projects.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine, never were, and never will be.

**A/N:** Thanks again to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story. I really appreciate it. And a special thanks to Pandorama for being my faithful beta reader.

**A/N:** Uploaded the wrong version (thanks a lot, Microsoft Word).

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><p>The halls feel too pristine, the walls too white, as she makes her way toward his room. Her fingers are laced through Rachel's, and the grip is sweaty, although she can't tell if that is her fault or her daughters. On her right and slightly ahead of her, Wilson marches toward his old friend's room, his damaged hand barely peeking out from the sleeve of his lab coat. Cuddy is struck yet again by the degree of damage House had caused.<p>

"We're here."

Wilson has stopped outside a plain and unmarked door. He meets her gaze, silently asking her if she is okay, if she wants to go back, reminding her that she doesn't really have to do this. And she responds the same way she has the other ten times Wilson has asked: with a well-practiced stop-asking-my-mind-is-made-up stare.

"I don't want to," Rachel says suddenly. She slides her hand out of Cuddy's grasp and hugs her arms around herself. "It's scary in there."

"You don't have-" Cuddy begins, but Wilson cuts her off.

"Why?"

"Because he's a stranger."

Cuddy frowns. It has been Rachel's idea to come here in the first place, even to return to House's room after he had dismissed her the first time. She looks at her daughter, suddenly struck by how young and vulnerable she looks, despite her stubbornness about this trip as her birthday present.

"No, he's not," Wilson says gently. "He's your friend."

Rachel's next words are whispered so quietly, Cuddy almost misses them. "But he doesn't remember me."

"I don't think that's true, Rachel," Wilson responds.

"You don't?" The note of hope in her voice is impossible to miss.

"I think he remembers you. House doesn't forget many details, and you were his friend, so that makes you much more than a mere detail."

"Then why didn't he say anything last time?"

Wilson sighs. "It's possible that the-" he breaks off at the warning glance from Cuddy; she hasn't told Rachel about House's drug addiction, one of the contributing factors to their break-up, "—there's some damage to his brain. It, uh, might affect his memory."

Rachel looks crestfallen. "So it's possible he doesn't remember me at all?"

Cuddy knows what Wilson is dancing around: the fact House may have deliberately ignored her. She is grateful that Wilson is doing his best to preserve the memory that she has always wanted Rachel to have: House, as the caring, fatherly figure who taught her how to feed the monkey and baby-sat her on late nights. Not House, the Vicodin-addict who almost killed her and her mother by driving a car through their house.

"You know what, Rachel?" Cuddy begins, finding her voice at last. "We'll make him remember you." She shares a significant look with Wilson, and then adds, "No one is that damaged."

Rachel still looks doubtful, but allows Wilson to open the door. She follows her mother inside the sterile room.

When she catches sight of House, Cuddy firmly plants her feet into the floor, rooting herself, fighting down the desire to bolt. She has never been one for running away, but her mind screams that this is not something she can handle.

Never has she imagined him in a wheelchair.

Even Wilson's warnings that House was thinner, confined to the chair, cannot diminish the shock resonating through her as she stares at the man she once knew. He is a mere shell of himself, his body little more than skin and bones. His shoulders are hunched over, a more defeated pose than she has ever seen in him, and his legs hang useless from the chair.

"House."

She can barely register Wilson speaking. At the sound of his name, House looks up. Cuddy has to stop herself from gasping aloud.

His blue eyes are still as piercing as ever.

"Say something," Wilson mutters. "You have his attention."

When Cuddy doesn't respond, Rachel nudges her. "You have to say hi, Mom."

"Hi," Cuddy says awkwardly, hesitantly. House doesn't respond, but he doesn't move his penetrating eyes from hers, either. She takes this as a good sign. "How – how are you?" She could have kicked herself. This couldn't be any more awkward.

"Cuddy and Rachel are here to see you," Wilson cuts in, saving Cuddy from further embarrassment. "You remember Rachel, don't you?" he adds pointedly.

House's gaze shifts from Cuddy to her daughter and then back again. Still no words, but at least they still had his attention.

"Come closer," Wilson says. Rachel steps forward hesitantly, Cuddy following in her daughter's wake.

Rachel peers into House's face, staring at him inquiringly, daring him to answer Wilson's question, daring him to say anything at all. Cuddy is struck by how tall her daughter is now, how she stands at House's eye level exactly, despite his tall frame in the wheelchair.

"Hi, House," Rachel says shyly. "I'm Rachel. And this is my mom. You used to play with me. Do you remember?"

He still doesn't respond, but Rachel presses valiantly on.

"You taught me how to feed the monkey," she insists. "Remember? Feed the monkey?" She gestures helplessly at her mother, and Cuddy recognizes the need to intervene.

"House," she says quietly, "please answer her."

Rachel steps aside to allow Cuddy more direct access. She leans over the chair so that she and House are at eye level. "I know you're in there," she murmurs, so only he can hear, if he can hear at all, if he's even bothering to listen to her now. "My daughter is here to see you. And she's been waiting her whole life for this moment. So, please, say something to her. She remembers you. I know you remember her, too."

"Lisa," Wilson says gently. "You don't know-"

"You know he's pretending," she hisses. "You _know_ he remembers her, just like he remembers me and you, even though he pretends he doesn't. He's just avoiding us, like he always has been able to, like he's always wanted."

"Lisa." This time Wilson's voice is louder and he looks significantly at Rachel, who is standing wide-eyed, clearly soaking in these details from her childhood to which she has never before been privy.

Wilson walks over and rests a hand on her shoulder. "I know you want him to remember her. But it's really possible he's not pretending. It's really possible he's…gone." Cuddy glances at him and is stunned to see the glimmers of tears in Wilson's eyes. She wonders how many times Wilson has tried to do exactly what she just did, to attempt to be more stubborn than House, to convince himself that House really was still in there, just pretending to ignore him. Somehow it may have seemed better than accepting the truth, that House really could be – might be – gone.

"Mom," Rachel says quietly. "I don't think he remembers me."

Cuddy nods slowly, reaching her arm out. Rachel accepts the hug. "I think you're right, sweetie," Cuddy mutters. "I'm so sorry."

"We tried, right?"

"Yes," Cuddy answers, because she can't say anything else, "we tried."

"We should go," Wilson says. House has turned away from them, his interest in the situation clearly gone. "I'll be back next week," he adds to House, though Cuddy knows it's pointless.

They have just reached the door when it happens.

"Scalawag."

Cuddy can hardly dare to believe he just said what she thinks she heard. She wills him to say it again, louder this time, so that no one can mistake the word, the one word he has given them their entire time in his room.

"House," Wilson asks, but it sounds more like a statement. He is telling House to say it again, willing him not to disappoint them, not after they've come all this way, not after Rachel has expected so much.

Rachel looks questioningly at Cuddy, and she knows her daughter has recognized the word, too.

"Please," Cuddy breathes. "Please say it again."

Rachel steps toward him, and is stopped in her tracks when House does speak again, louder this time, so the words are unmistakable.

"Get ye out of here, ye bloody scalawag."

Cuddy and Wilson exchange a significant look, but it's Rachel who responds most vividly. She closes the distance between herself and House and throws her arms around him, leaning her head onto his shoulder.

She pulls back after a moment, once it's clear House won't respond. Cuddy is surprised to see she doesn't look at all upset by House's lack of emotion toward her. Instead, Rachel smiles and brings her hand up in salute.

"Aye, aye, captain."

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><p><strong>AN:** House fandom, it's been real. To everyone watching season 8, good luck.


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